Tidal Wave
by GeneFlowers
Summary: M/M fic, set mid-series 1, Mary starts having "thoughts" about Matthew...ahem.  Not smutty...yet. Title from a Killers song, because I'm obsessed and couldn't think of anything else.  Please R&R, they make my day! :D
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! So, I've become absolutely Downton-OBSESSED over the past few months and have spent the last few weeks reading practically EVERY Mary/Matthew fic that I could find! (They're all really amazing.) So that's my excuse for this really - I've run out of fics to read, and I wanted to have a stab at writing one myself ( I hope it isn't too bad! Please tell me gently if it is).**

**This is set somewhere mid/early series one, not quite sure when (In all honesty, I can't actually fully remember the chronology of events/what happened in each episode, so apologies if I use any events out of order). But I think I'd place this somewhere after Pamuk, and somewhere before the whole Anthony Strallan/dinner debacle (if someone could tell me what episode that's in, I'd be very grateful; pretty sure Pamuk was in episode 3, right? I digress). Hopefully this isn't _just _regurgitating all the M/M fics I've already read, and hopefully I've kept them IC (apart from the first bit, which is obviously not in character, for obvious reasons, and sorry if it's a bit clichéd :3) Anyway, any reviews, constructive criticism etc would be greatly appreciated. I hope I've done them justice.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Downton, or any of its characters, more's the pity. Oh, the fun I could have with them... *evil laugh***

"Mary."

She closed her eyes at the sound of her name. Said in his gentle, yet convinced voice, it felt like a caress. Mind you, she thought dryly, _anything _said in his voice would sound like a caress.

"Mary!" There was his voice again…and with more urgency, she noted. She opened her eyes and tried to focus on him moving towards her, but he was blurry in front of her eyes: the only things she could make out clearly were his golden hair, shining in the sun, and his piercing blue eyes – _oh_-so-blue – glittering with some emotion. But what was it? Wit? Anger? She wasn't sure. She could see him speaking, see his blurry pink lips moving, but couldn't hear what he was saying. It was as if she were swimming underwater, the sound reaching her ears only as soundless bubbles, too swollen and muffled for any coherence. His lips formed three words.

And suddenly she could hear again, as if emerging from the depths of the lake in Downton's grounds, to breathe the pure, delicious country air.

"I love you," Matthew repeated, reaching his hand out towards her.

As Mary reached back towards him, she closed her eyes in dazed satisfaction. Finally he had said it. The words she had been longing to hear from him for so long, such a long time…not that she would ever admit it, especially to him, and least of all to herself.

"Matthew…" she smiled, eyes still closed. Never had she felt happiness like this. She felt whole.

But something was wrong.

She could hear it, in the change of his tone, from sure and certain in the depth of his emotions to uncertain, in fact, now she came to think of it, he sounded downright panicked.

"Matthew?" she asked, her voice suddenly small, frightened. Vulnerable. But she didn't hear his reply. Her hearing was slipping away, along with her other senses, and she was sliding, sliding away into blackness…

* * *

><p>Mary gasped as she came to, and Anna looked over at her Lady, concern quirking her face into a frown.<p>

"Are you all right, milady?"

"Yes, yes, of course, Anna," she replied distractedly, shaking her head to try and rid it of the (not altogether disagreeable) dream. No! She couldn'tthink like that, she thought wildly. He was her cousin, her fourth cousin at that, barely even part of this family, an infuriating, priggish, middle-class lawyer, come to steal what was rightfully hers, her inheritance!

But yet…

No! She could _not _think like this. She hated him, and that was that. With things straightened out in her head, she turned to Anna, fixing her face into a politely questioning stare.

Anna smiled slightly, not fooled for a minute by her mistress's deflection. "Lord and Lady Grantham are waiting for you to attend breakfast downstairs, if you will…" she trailed off, waiting for Ladt Mary's response.

"Yes, of course," said Mary vaguely, still trying to banish flashbacks from her dream. She stood up, allowing Anna to begin dressing her and arranging her hair for the day. "What time is it, Anna?" Mary asked absent-mindedly as the maid pulled a strand of hair back and deftly pinned it into place on top of her head.

"Half past nine, milady," replied Anna, after pausing to glance up at the clock.

"Goodness, it _is_ late!" exclaimed Mary. "Why didn't you wake me up, Anna?" she asked reproachfully, but was betrayed by the affectionate smile for the maid who was also her best friend.

"It was not my place to do so, milady. And besides -" she continued, smiling, "you looked so at peace sleeping, I couldn't bear to wake you."

Mary grinned back tightly, but inside she was in turmoil. "Surely not!" she exclaimed, trying and failing to keep the strangled edge out of her voice. "You do not know of what I dreamt!"

"Perhaps not," countered Anna. "But if I may be so bold…" she met Mary's eyes in the mirror and sought permission. "You looked happier than you have done in months."

The fake smile that Mary had plastered onto her face slid off slowly, and Anna, sensing that she may have overstepped the mark, meekly said, "Sorry, milady," and stepped back as she pinned the last strand of her mistress's hair into place.

Mary shook her head, closing her eyes at her own foolishness. "It's not your fault," she said. "Please don't apologise, Anna, for voicing your opinion…and one that is probably true, at that!" Yes indeed, she thought. But if it was true…that she was happier when dreaming of Matthew (she forced herself to say his name inside her head) then…well, she didn't know what to think. Apart from that, well, it scared her a little. Or rather, a lot.

Anna cleared her throat slightly, bringing Mary back to the present. Blessing her maid for pulling her away from that dangerous train of thought, she glided gracefully out of the room and down the stairs to breakfast, where any stray thoughts of her rogue dream were swept up in her parents' displeasure at her lateness, and the general chaos that was any meal at Downton.

**So, what did you think? Sorry about the dream sequence, I know it's a cliché, but I _really _wanted to write an M/M story, and that was the only thing I could come up with to begin. I will (hopefully) be continuing this, between my busy schedule of procrastinating over things that I should be doing, and reading fanfics, and I'm thinking the next chapter might be from Matthew's point of view? Any thoughts?**

**Thanks for reading**

**Naha :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, second chapter. Woot! Thanks so much to Pemonyen and The Rambling Mind for your reviews, they are very much appreciated, and spurred me on to write this next chapter today. Also, thanks to TRM for pointing out that Matthew and Mary are in fact fourth cousins - it should be changed now. **

**About this chapter...errr...not quite sure where it came from, but I really enjoyed writing it. UST rocks the world! I hope you enjoy it, and any reviews/constructive criticism/pointing out of spelling errors/typos would be much appreciated. **

**Disclaimer: Downton Abbey's not mine. Unfortunately, even if I _was _related to Julian Fellowes, being a girl, it would not pass to me but to some horribly middle-class cousin in anorthern industrial town. Pfft.**

Matthew hummed a tune to himself as he rode his bicycle home from work. His thoughts meandered in no particular direction; he thought about how glorious it was to ride these beautiful country roads in this sunny weather – he had grown accustomed to life in the countryside, and indeed, he was even starting to enjoy it! He thought about his caseload, working on a few details in his head, trying to distract himself from where his thoughts truly lay….but the truth was, his mind kept being inexplicably drawn to…

"Mary!" He spluttered out an exclamation as the object of his thoughts appeared suddenly around the corner; he barely avoided running over her as he swerved wildly into the bushes, losing his balance and tumbling ungracefully into the ditch at the side of the road.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, pulling himself out of the ditch and trying not to grown at the bruises on his body.

She raised an eyebrow in mocking surprise. "_I _was going for a walk," she replied cuttingly, glancing down at her skirts. As he followed her gazed, he noticed a streak of mud on the (undoubtedly expensive) material. This time he really did groan.

"I'm so sorry, Mary," he apologised. "I suppose I wasn't really concentrating on where I was going…"

"I suppose you weren't," she remarked, with an amused half-smile. "No matter. It looks like you came off worst, anyway." He really had, she thought, taking in his bedraggled hair, a few stray leaves strewn about in it, a streak of dirt on his face, and the mud caking his clothes, right down to his now scuffed leather shoes. She tried to supress the giggle that was forcing its way up her throat, but couldn't quite manage to: in the end, it emerged as a very un-ladylike snort. She blushed slightly.

Matthew was affronted at first – how dare she laugh at his appearance, when it was _her _who had caused him to crash so spectacularly in the first place? But noticing the slight colouration of her normally porcelain cheeks, he grinned at the effect his appearance was apparently having on her. "Yes, it certainly does, doesn't it?" he said conversationally. Matthew smiled ruefully, but Mary had noticed the roguish grin that had flitted across his face at her embarrassment. How dare he? How dare he laugh at her when it was _he _who was to blame for his spectacular crash on his stupid bicycle?

She stepped towards him, face thunderous, but surprised Matthew (and herself) by gently removing one of the leaves from his hair.

His hair, soft as a duckling's downy feathers, sent a pleasant tingling sensation up her arm and all the way through her body, and she struggled to supress a contented sigh. She forced herself to look straight into Matthew's face as she did so, noticing his eyes were wider and even bluer (even bluer – was that even possible?) than usual. In fact, he looked downright terrified, and so, grinning wickedly to himself, she proceeded to remove the other bits of twigs and leaves lodged in his golden hair, trailing her fingers through its beautiful softness, lingering for longer than was strictly necessary. Matthew's eyes got wider and wider as his pupils dilated, then Mary removed the last leaf and took a step back, clearing her throat as she did so.

Matthew remained stock still, standing in stunned silence. What was she doing? Of course, she could have simply been removing the leaves from his hair, but the glint in her eye as she had run her slender fingers through it suggested something more…No! He couldn't think like that! What was wrong with him? More to the point, what was she doing to him?

The awkward silence lasted a few moments more, then unable to bear it any longer, Mary burst out angrily, "What was that for anyway?"

"What?" exclaimed Matthew. "I was cycling home, and I didn't see you! I'm sorry! I don't know what else you expect me to say!" She had really riled him now. She made a gesture that could almost be interpreted as affectionate, then resorted to rowing with him? She defied explanation!

Mary shook with anger as her eyes roved wildly, uncontrollably, over her stupid, hateful cousin. Then her eyes caught on his hand and the ire drained from her face. "Cousin Matthew," she murmured quietly, catching his hand in hers. What was the confounded woman doing now, he thought, as she pulled his hand upwards to examine it more closely. "You're bleeding."

A small 'oh' of realisation shaped Matthew's lips as he looked down to his hand grasped gently in hers. There was quite a gash in it, now he looked at it, probably from some sharp metal part of his bike cutting into it, and though he hadn't noticed it before, he realised it hurt – a lot. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain and Mary looked up into his eyes, searchingly, _worriedly_.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, with more tenderness than he would ever have believed possible of her.

"A little," he replied, grimacing as the pain coursed through him again. Now he was aware of it, it hurt like hell. "But I'll be fine." He shrugged. "Once I get home, mother will be able to bandage it up." He tried to smile reassuringly at her, but again it came out as more of a grimace.

Mary wasn't fooled for a moment. "Isn't your mother still working at the hospital?" she asked knowingly.

Without waiting for a reply, she gripped his arm, saying, "Come along. Downton's closest, and I'm loathe to leave you out here on your own – you'll probably bleed to death, and then how would that look?" She laughed superficially as she pulled Matthew along, and he submitted to her stronger will.

"Wait a minute." He stopped abruptly and Mary turned, looking up into his face challengingly.

"What?" she asked impatiently.

"What about my bike?"

Mary waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, one of the servants can come and collect it later – that's if you still insist on riding it. It seems to cause nothing but trouble." She paused, smiling at Matthew's knitted brow. "Come along," she beckoned imperiously, and Matthew again surrendered to her insistence. After a minute, he had to laugh out loud.

"What?" Now it was Mary's turn to look confused.

"You always have to get your own way, don't you?"

**Hope you enjoyed; as always, tell me what you think! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello there again, dear readers! It's nearly midnight here, so I apologise if I'm rambling and incoherent (or more so than normal..). Thank you everyone who's reviewed so far, and I hope you'll like this chapter enough to give me a review (and even if you don't I'd appreciate the feedback anyway). This chapter contains interfering mothers, a rather slow-on-the-uptake Matthew, dark humour and completely innocent not-touching... (Okay, scratch that last one!)**

**Enjoy!**

"What happened?" asked Cora, dismayed at the dishevelled appearance of her daughter and Matthew. Mary had sneaked Matthew in the servant's entrance, hoping at least to clean herself up a little before being objected to her mother's scrutiny. However, she realised now that this had been a big mistake – by sneaking in through the back door, she had made it look as if they had something to hide. She closed her eyes in resigned anticipation of her mother's interrogation.

"Well, Mama, Cousin Sea Monster here tried to kill me by mowing me down with that confounded contraption of his!" she said, perfectly seriously.

"Mary…" said Cora, closing her eyes at her daughter's ridiculousness, whilst Matthew's lips twitched as he tried to hide a smile.

"That's not _quite _what happened," said Matthew, smiling wholly. "I fully admit to not paying enough attention to where I was going," he began cautiously, watching Mary arch one elegantly curved eyebrow. "However, I did swerve to avoid her, and ended up in a ditch in the process, hence this," he gestured at his muddied clothes and bloodied hand, "so I think that's adequate payback for my momentary…lapse in…concentration…" he trailed off as Mary, who had been trying to stifle giggles with her hand throughout Matthew's entire rambling explanation, finally burst out laughing. Matthew turned beetroot red as even Cora smiled indulgently at the future earl's embarrassment, but then he met Mary's eyes and the smile slid from her face. Her eyes lost their mirth and her gaze turned meaningful, and Matthew thought, with a gulp, that she was thinking about exactly the same thing as him – she was thinking about that moment – when she had gently removed the debris from his hair and grabbed his hand. A faint blush developed over Mary's normally porcelain skin and she threw a sideways glance at her mother, praying she hadn't noticed. Unfortunately, Cora had noticed everything.

"Well," she said, looking shrewdly from one to the other, "no matter. Mary, I'm sure you can take care of Matthew," she raised her eyebrows meaningfully at her daughter. "I'll leave you to it."

As soon as her mother had left the room, Mary let out a groan. Matthew raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

Mary just shook her head in exasperation; at her mother's suspicion, at Matthew's obliviousness; and didn't answer, turning and bending down to retrieve bandages from the bottom drawer.

"What?" Matthew pressed.

Mary sighed in annoyance. Surely she didn't have to spell it out for him? It was obvious, wasn't it? Especially in light of what had happened at the side of the road…she swallowed. She mustn't think of that. That was too dangerous a path to go down. She turned to him and said tartly, "I would have thought that was obvious."

The amused smile dropped from Matthew's face at the cold look in her eyes and his expression turned mystified. "I just don't understand why you're so bothered!"

Mary sighed again, barely restraining from rolling her eyes. "I don't understand why you're _not _bothered!"

He was struggling still, she could see. "But…but Cousin Cora was only being polite."

How could he be so dense? wondered Mary despairingly. For a clever man (and Mary had, albeit reluctantly, had to admit to herself that he was indeed a clever man), he could be utterly stupid. "Oh, Matthew!" she snapped, patience finally breaking. Her voice dripped with sarcasm, now. "I mean, _you _were the one who said you 'didn't want to have one of the daughters thrust at you'!" she raised her eyebrows at him as she recalled the first words she had heard from him. What a fine first impression he had made, thought Mary sardonically as he watched her cut a length of bandage.

Realisation finally dawned in Matthew's eyes, along with a vague look of panic. "You mean – she thinks we – you and I – are – were -" he gulped, unable to finish the sentence (or rather, series of incoherent stutterings), unsure of what he was even trying to say.

This time, Mary did roll her eyes, but mainly to stop the unnamed emotions that had started to boil and bubble up inside her from showing on her face. "Yes, Matthew," she said slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dim-witted child. She closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm, to retain her composure. "Now we've got that sorted, perhaps I can finally put this on?" she gestured to the bandage that was dangling from her fingers.

"Yes, of course." Matthew nodded in relief, holding out his injured hand, glad they were finally back on neutral ground.

This respite was short-lived, however, as she drew closer to him with the bandage in her fingers, and he realised that she was going to touch him again, touch his hand as she had before…the thought sent tendrils of something he didn't dare name shivering across every nerve ending…

The same thought had occurred to Mary, and she licked her lips as she tilted closer, trying to moisten them, wondering why they had suddenly gone dry, why her heart was beating so… For goodness' sake! She was only putting a bandage on her cousin's hand; she had done this plenty of times for Sybil when she was younger without a thought, and yet…she wondered at how the mere thought of touching Matthew's hand sent burning, licking flames across her skin when Kemal Pamuk, in her room, on top of her, _inside _her, had not; had only left her cold and shivering unbearably. She mentally shook herself. She did not want to think about that. She did not want to think about Pamuk's heavy breathing in her ear, nor (although they could hardly be compared) did she want to think about Matthew's dirty, blood-stained hand, the soil clinging to the underside of his perfectly rounded nails, the ink stained pads of his fingers – goodness, were they really as soft as they looked? – she did not want to think about _any _of it.

Time seemed to slow almost to a standstill, and the walls of the small room (it was barely a room, really, just a store chamber off the servant's corridor) seemed to close in on them as she closed the last few inches between her hands and his. But before she could touch him (why did she have to think of it like that?) – before she could wind the bandage round (as tight as she could, preferably cutting off his circulation, she thought bitterly), Matthew yelled out, louder than he had meant to, "Stop!"

Mary halted immediately, almost relieved, and looked up into his eyes with what she hoped was an inquisitive look. "What?" she said, as calmly as she could manage.

Matthew smiled weakly as her eyes met his. He honestly had no idea why he had stopped her, but he simply could not bear the tension that was simmering between them (or at least through; any reciprocation on her part was probably wishful thinking to the point of ridiculousness) and he had no idea what he could say to explain his outburst.

"Shouldn't you…wash it first?" Oh, excellent, Matthew, he thought to himself. Another excuse for her to touch you. And he had expressly asked _her _to do it – why on Earth-? – He was perfectly capable of washing his hand himself.

All at the same time, Mary was having to physically restrain herself from hitting him, screaming in anger and frustration and God-knows-what other repressed emotions, and stabbing him repeatedly with the scissors she had used to cut the bandage until he bled to death, although perhaps Mama would not be altogether pleased at her for that – it might even eclipse the whole Pamuk affair in worst failing as a daughter – although she was sure Granny would see the irony in it. She narrowed her eyes at him. Did he take pleasure in torturing her so?

"My mother's a nurse," he said by way of explanation, grinning and shrugging a shoulder apologetically.

"Of course," she said through gritted teeth, and turned her back on him, dress swishing around her ankles as she stalked towards the kitchen to fetch some water (and try to get a grip on her raging thoughts and emotions).


End file.
